


It's All In Your Head

by Setkia



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Angst, Black Blood, Blood and Gore, F/M, Inferiority Complex, Insanity, Insecure!Soul, Pining!Soul, Self-Harm, Soul Plays Piano, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:02:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setkia/pseuds/Setkia
Summary: “Shh,” he says softly, but it’s not comforting anymore. I don’t know what to do, whatcanI do? What do I say? Words don’t work here as the illusion, this trap, whatever it is, wraps its fingers around my neck tightly and my vision starts to get blurry. I choke on air as I try to get enough oxygen to my lungs but it isn’t working,it isn’t working—“Don’t squirm, Little Meister. You don’t want me to do something drastic, do you?”





	1. one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hand meets mine on his chest, and he grins. “Slimey …” He pulls his hand away and stares at it, fascinated, turning his hand over.
> 
> I know the moment he realizes it’s blood that’s coating his hand.
> 
> “Maka,” his voice sounds hoarse, his eyes are wide. “Why … why Imma bleedin’?”

_"The Edge … There is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.”_ —Hunter S. Thompson

_  
Safety. Have to get him to safety._

My legs move on autopilot. I turn a corner and skid to a stop. Pressing my back against the pillar, I close my eyes and try to breathe. I’m no use if I can’t even handle myself. My grip nearly falters, but I quickly recover before he can hit the ground.

_Breathe._

My eyes snap open and I zero in on the exit.

My feet move quickly, almost as if they’re ahead of my body as I launch myself forward and I hold him to my chest. I sprint like a madman and once I’m outside, there’s still no time to take a breather.

I run for several streets, taking random turns and moving as quickly as I can for as long as I can until my knees give out and I fall.

He groans.

I place him down on the ground and put pressure on his wound, trying to keep the blood from escaping. My fingers are coated crimson, but I have to ignore it. We are not safe. This is a temporary solution that won’t last very long.

I take a moment to assess the damage.

Soul’s skin is paler than usual. He must have fractured ribs. I know denting sustained in battle appears on his body in the form of bruises, and he’s covered in them. His clothes are torn, nasty cuts from the Kishin litter his body and the most obvious wound is the almost gaping hole in his stomach.

The Kishin took a bite out of him.

I’m his Meister, I should know better. We’ve been partners for years. I know how to handle him in battle. He hasn’t had these kinds of injuries since we were rookies and still couldn’t transform half of the time.

Soul’s eyes open slowly. His pupils are dilated.

“‘Id we get ‘em?” he asks blearily.

“Hey, eyes on me,” I say, patting his face gently, but my hands get the blood on his cheek and he sways too much from such a light touch. “Don’t close your eyes, you hear me?”

“So we didn’ get ‘em?” His words are slurring together. “S’my fault, sorry—”

“Forget about the Kishin!”

He blinks. His gaze is too unfocused for me to feel comfortable.

“Forget ‘bout the Kishin?” he echoes. He giggles. “Rebel.”

I ignore his teasing. I don’t know how much blood he’s lost, he’s becoming loopy and it probably won’t be long before he passes out, he’s barely conscious. I need to get Stein, and quick.

His hand meets mine on his chest, and he grins. “Slimey …” He pulls his hand away and stares at it, fascinated, turning his hand over.

I know the moment he realizes it’s blood that’s coating his hand.

“Maka,” his voice sounds hoarse, his eyes are wide. “Why … why Imma bleedin’?”

“Don’t panic!” I feel like a hypocrite, my voice cracks when I speak. “Panicking isn’t cool.”

“Bleedin’ out ain’t cool either.” Soul’s eyes are blown wide open and his hand is trembling. He’s freaking out, even if his voice stays pretty level.

“I know,” I say, “I’m gonna get you to Stein— Soul?”

His eyes close and my heart stops.

I press my ear against his chest and hear his slow heartbeat. He’s alive. But his pulse is faint. He needs immediate help.

 

  
I burst into Stein’s office.

The professor turns in his spinning chair, his hand on his gear. His eyes widen when he notices me.

“Get him on the table.”

I gently place Soul onto the cold operation table. I can see myself in the table’s reflection. My hair is wild and crazy, I lost one of my elastics so one of my pigtails has come undone, my clothes are ripped, I’m covered in bruises and cuts, but most importantly, I’m covered in blood.

“How much blood did he lose?”

“I don’t know,” I say and I want to cry. I feel so useless. The most I could do was put pressure on him and carry him. I feel like I should’ve been able to do more. This is a partnership, both Meister and weapon protect _each other_ , he’s not a bodyguard, I’m not a damsel, we’re supposed to back each other up, not stand by as a Kishin takes a bite out of his scythe and watch helplessly as he forcefully transforms back, clutching his stomach.

Stein places a hand on my shoulder and I look up at him.

“You did well, Maka.”

I don’t want Stein’s comfort.

“Help him.”

Stein turns on the light above the table and I freeze.

The blood … it’s black.

Stein asks me to hand him supplies and I watch, ready to bite off my own fingers as he stitches him back up. It takes what feels like hours, and when he’s finally done, Stein still looks grim.

“Maka … his soul …”

I know.

“I can’t do anything about the discord there,” he says slowly. “It’s something internal that Soul’s dealing with.”

"Is he going to be okay?"

“Yes and no,” Stein says and I want to ask him what the hell he means by that, but I don’t because I’m scared to push him. He turns his gear thoughtfully and hums to himself for a moment. “Because of the … internal conflict, it creates a bit of a … situation. Theoretically, Soul is fine. He’s all patched up and with enough rest, he’ll be as good as new. However while his body will make a relatively decent recovery, his mind is not cooperating. He’s like a computer that needs to restart, but the mental systems aren’t coming back online.”

“Is it the Blood?”

“Perhaps.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means I’ve done all I can do, now it’s up to Soul to save himself.”

“And if he can’t?”

Stein frowns, his eyes downcast.

That’s not acceptable.

“Send me in.”

“It’s too dangerous—”

“Soul has done so many dangerous things for me, it’s only fair I repay him. You may have done all _you_ can, but _I_ haven’t. I’m his Meister, I’ve been inside his mind before, I can do it again.” I don’t like thinking about it, about the little demon in the black room, but I have a feeling that’s where I have to start. “Stein, you have to send me.”

“Spirit—”

“This isn’t about Papa, this is about me and Soul. It’s my choice and I choose to help him, in any way I can. If I screw up, then it’s my own fault, but you can’t deny me a chance to try.”

“Maka, I—”

“You can’t try and stop me, because if you don’t help me get inside, I’ll do it myself. Soul is my partner. And I won’t let him die, not without even trying. I can’t accept his death without trying absolutely everything I possibly can to prevent it. I’m sorry Professor Stein, but I just can’t obey you this time—”

“Maka, stop.” Stein drops to his knee and places his hands on my shoulders. I can see myself in the reflection of his glasses. I look desperate. “I wasn’t going to stop you. Spirit is going to be mad when he finds out what I’m about to let you do, but you’re right, Soul needs you. If Spirit was here, he’d be proud. Your mother, even more so.”

I nod.

Looking down at Soul, he almost looks like he’s sleeping. He’s limp on the table, his chest is stitched up, and he’s been stripped to his boxers. Exactly how he likes to sleep. The jagged stitches across his chest hurt me every time I see them, but now he has another scar along his stomach, again courtesy of me.

When am I going to stop hurting him?

_I’m coming, Soul._


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul turns to past-me and grins. I don’t notice his sharp teeth, I know I only noticed them a few minutes later. My eyes are glazed over, my mouth hanging open.
> 
> _‘Scared yet?’_
> 
> “It’s beautiful.”

_"I should never be left alone with my mind for too long."_ —Libba Bray

  
There is no Black Room when I enter.

Instead there is a long hallway, lined with many doors of different colours. I take a cautious step forward. I need this to be quick, an in and out job. I can’t afford to linger and mess around with his already fragile mind.

I approach one of the doors to my right.

My hand stops over the doorknob. Is this an invasion of privacy? I don’t know what I’m going to see behind this door, and while it’s not the most ideal method, the best I’ve got is to try each door until I find myself in the right place.

Then again, Soul is my partner.

There are no secrets between us.

I open the door.

It’s dark in here.

I can faintly pick up the sound of a … tock? Or is it more of a tick?

_‘Show time.’_

Suddenly the dark space is flying with colours. Music notes and time signatures and other things I can’t quite name are floating through the air, each with their own distinct colour. A melody's playing. I don’t know what kind of music it is, but I know exactly who is playing it.

Soul.

I stare in awe as the notes leap and jump around the space. They fill up the room with a presence that demands to be seen, that provokes thoughts and images and ideas and I feel my fingers tingling, as if I’m the one hitting the keys. I let it move me, I sway a little at the sounds, closing my eyes and letting it wash over me.

I don’t know how long I listen, but eventually it stops.

_‘Say something.’_

My eyes open and I’m standing inside of a fancy room with a grand piano. There are other people in the room, two adults and a young boy who looks a lot like Soul.

Where am I?

The young boy grins, his teeth, to my surprise, normal. The adults however, do not look as pleased. The man is tapping his arm with impatience, the woman is staring pointedly. They look rich. Very rich. The boy is wearing a Gravex, one of the most expensive watches sold in Death City. It sits on his wrist, a bit too big on him, like it’s meant for someone older.

There are paintings on the walls of white-haired people with aristocratic features.

Portraits.

I feel out of place, like I’m not supposed to be here.

_‘Say something, dammit!’_

I open my mouth to speak, to answer the strange voice with no body, when I realize that the voice isn’t talking to me. It’s talking to the three people in front of the grand piano.

Which means …

I turn around and see Soul, younger than when I first met him, sitting behind the piano. He’s wearing a pinstriped suit and a red dress shirt. His hair is still as wild as ever, but he must be at most nine. His hands are on his lap, clenched into fists. His knuckles are turning paler.

_‘SPEAK!’_

The word echoes in the silence. No one’s lips have moved. The sound must be coming from … my head? I turn to see Soul who is looking more and more on edge. These words … they’re …

_‘Stop staring and just say something!’_

His thoughts.

“What happened to those classical lessons I paid for?” says the man finally.

“I took them,” says Soul in a clipped voice. “I just prefer this.”

The woman looks like she’s swallowed a lemon. “Hmph!” she turns up her nose, as if she can’t bare to look at Soul. “Wesley, show Soul how it is done.”

“Mother—”

“Now, Wesley!”

The young boy who looks like Soul leaves the room and returns just a few moments later with a violin in hand. He places it underneath his chin and looks at Soul, his eyes full of concern, before he starts to play.

It sounds nice, very melodic. There’s a certain kind of calmness to it that Soul’s music doesn’t have, a certain tranquility. The boy’s music is harmonizing, it feels less abrupt than Soul’s, much more fluid. When he finishes, both the man and woman are clapping. The boy bows awkwardly.

“You could learn a thing or two from Wesley,” says the woman.

Soul’s eyes turn to the young boy. He glares and the young boy, named Wesley, gives him an uneasy grin.

“Why don’t we play together?” he asks.

Soul looks at him critically.

“I think I’ll pass—”

“Soul,” cuts in the man. “Extra practice never hurt anyone.”

_‘Extra practice won’t turn me into Wes.’_

He sounds bitter.

Soul lifts his hands to the keys of the piano. “I’ll play...” he shoots Wesley a look, “only if Wes can keep up.”

Wesley grins. “Challenge accepted.”

Once again my surroundings disappear and I can see notes flying around me. There’s no real rhythm, it’s always changing, I can hear Wesley, but I can only see Soul’s music. Wesley starts off slow but Soul picks up pace quickly, it doesn’t take long before it’s a fight for who will be heard, who will follow whose lead, and then—

“STOP!”

The room comes back to me, the adults, who I can only assume are Mr and Mrs Evans, are glaring down at Soul.

“This is childish,” says his mother. “We payed for classical music lessons, so you are going to play classical music, is that understood?”

“Mother—”

“Is that understood?”

Soul seems to shrink in size.

“Yes, Mother.”

Wesley’s frowning. He glances at his mother, then his father, and lastly at Soul, who shoots him daggers with his crimson eyes.

“You’re an Evans, start acting like one.”

_‘Maybe I don’t want to be an Evans.’_

And then the room goes black.

What just happened?

I feel cold, my surroundings are gone and my body feels numb.

I walk back into the hallway, but something doesn't feel right. I don’t know what it is, but the door in front of me wasn’t always black. At least, I don’t _think_ it was.

My head hurts a little. Maybe it was the music?

I open the door next to the black one and find I’m in … school?

There’s a grand piano once again, and there’s Soul. He still looks younger, but I knew him when he was this old, I know I did. His outfit, I think I remember it? I don’t know why though.

_‘Should I …?’_

The words echo in my head.

_‘It’s been a while … it’s not going to sound good, but I mean …’_

“Do you play?”

I jump alongside Soul when I turn and see myself, peering in from the door.

I know why his clothes are familiar.

This is the day I met him.

“Who are you?” Soul asks. I remember thinking he looked defensive, but now staring at him, from this new angle, I realize it was fear. He was scared. Of me?

“I could ask you the same thing,” I hear myself say. It’s weird, to hear my own voice from afar. A bit unnatural. Do I still sound like that? So young and … vulnerable? I don’t like it.

“I asked you first.”

“Do you play?” past-me repeats.

_‘What is her problem? Isn’t she scared?’_

I frown.

Why should I be scared?

I remember my first thought when I saw Soul, all those years ago.

_He’s different._

Not scary different, not intimidating, though I can see now, in retrospect, Soul may have been trying to scare me with the way he’s sitting and presenting himself. No, he was just different. Not a good, or bad different, just something I had never encountered, and that made me curious.

I’m really glad I decided to talk to him that day.

“A bit,” says Soul finally.

_‘Why is she here?’_

“Would you play something for me?”

Soul’s gaze hardens.

_‘What is her deal? Leave me alone, woman.’_

To my surprise, I’m not hurt by Soul’s thoughts. If I were him, I think I’d be the same way. I hate it whenever he interrupts me when I’m reading, I try to shake him off as quickly as I can to get back to what I want to do, so I can’t really blame him.

“If I play something, will you stop bothering me?”

“Maaaaaaybe.”

Soul grits his teeth and turns around to the piano keys, his hands hovering over the ivory.

 _‘Just this once. After this, no more. That life’s behind you.’_ He glances over his shoulder at past-me before turning back to the keys. The world fades away and I can hear the slight ticking sound again. A metronome.

_‘Time to scare her.’_

And then the notes are dancing around me, surrounding me. Watching as each sound is created, hearing them the way Soul hears them, it does something to me. I can identify the riffs, the slurs and the crescendo, the dynamics are clearer to me now as I let it wash over me. This new perspective only enhances my first impression.

Whenever Soul plays, it feels like a rollercoaster. I never know when the piece will end because he doesn’t do normal dynamics, he always turns them on their head, always chooses something that I’m not expecting, so after several almost-ends, the final note rings, out of sync with the rest of the piece, and yet I feel it could not have fit anywhere else better.

_‘Let’s see how she liked that.’_

I’ve memorized this moment, but I watch it anyway.

Soul turns to past-me and grins. I don’t notice his sharp teeth, I know I only noticed them a few minutes later. My eyes are glazed over, my mouth hanging open.

_‘Scared yet?’_

“It’s beautiful.”

_‘... what?’_

The shocked look on Soul’s face is funny. I realize I didn’t fully register it at the time, but now I can see it, the way his eyes turn into saucers, the way his mouth hangs open just slightly, he cuts his lower lip by accident with his teeth. I’m sorry to say I missed it the first time around.

How can I ever forget this moment?

“Do you want to be my partner?”

Soul looks me up and down.

_‘Is there something wrong with her? How is she not the least bit intimidated? Does she not know fear? I’m just some stranger, I could kidnap her, she doesn’t know me at all. Why should I trust her? She’s weird as fuck, but … She’s still here. She isn’t scared … yet.’_

Soul grins at me and this is the moment I notice the vampire teeth. I thought they were cool. I still do.

“Sure,” Soul says.

Past-me holds out my hand, and Soul takes it. I feel the warmth in my palm, and I can’t help grinning.

This is the moment everything changed.

“I’m Maka,” past-me introduces herself.

“Soul,” says Soul. “Soul Eater.”

“That can’t be your real name.”

“Wanna challenge me on it?”

Past-me laughs.

This is the moment I decided to trust a man.

I’m so glad I did.

“I have to go and tell Lord Death that we’re going to be partners,” past-me says, “so I’ll be back, alright?”

“I’ll be here,” says Soul with a smirk.

I watch myself leave.

I smile and wait for the room to go dark, like it did before, but it doesn’t.

“Eater?”

The boy from the last memory comes into the room. He looks older. Wesley leans against the piano and grins. “Creative, little brother.”

“What are you doing here?” asks Soul, gritting his teeth.

“Just thought I’d come and see where my bro’s going to be spending the rest of his days,” says Wesley. “Would you play me something? Before you leave us forever?”

“I never said it would be forever,” says Soul.

“You were thinking it,” Wesley says.

“If you’re going to give me some of that ‘we’ll miss you’ bullshit, I don’t want to hear it,” Soul snaps. “So why don’t you just get back in your stupid ass limo and leave me the fuck alone?”

“Language,” Wesley teases. “See, I can’t go back to the limo cause I didn’t take it here. I snuck out.”

_‘The prodigal son snuck out?’_

“Ooh, rebel,” Soul deadpans.

Wesley straightens out his posture and frowns. “Look, I support you. Mother and Father don’t like this. Who do you think talked them into letting you go?”

_‘Yeah right, they were eager to get me off their hands, you’ve got nothing to do with it.’_

“I’m not your enemy, Soul,” Wesley says. “I’m your big brother, I want what’s best for you. I’m actually kind of jealous, that you get to do something this cool. You’ll be off saving the world while I’m stuck playing background music at political dinners. So how about it? One more song for old time’s sake?”

“Fuck off.”

“I’m going to miss you—”

“Cut the crap—”

“No, I will.” Wesley becomes more solemn, his facial expression changing instantly to something much more serious. “I’m going to miss the fuck out of you. _And_ your music. I know Mother doesn’t like it and Father thinks it’s weird, but fuck them, I think it’s great. You do you, you know? I’m sorry I wasn’t a better brother, really, I am. I’m sorry I couldn’t be the brother you needed, couldn’t be the family or support you deserved.” Wesley grins. “I think you’ll find your place here, just fine. Wish I could watch you grow.”

A silence falls over them.

Wesley breaks it.

“So is she going to be your Meister?”

Soul’s eyes widen. “How do you—”

“You think I was gonna let my little bro go off to some strange school and I wouldn’t look into it?” Wesley rolls his eyes. “I know how it works, in vague, at least. You’re a Weapon, you need a Meister to help you fight in battle. So you’ve picked her?”

“I didn’t really—”

“Aw, does little Soul have a crush already?”

“Shut your face, Wes!”

Wesley laughs, but it sounds a little sad. “You played for her.”

“So?”

“You never play for me anymore.”

_‘She’s different. I don’t know how yet, but she just is … I feel it.’_

They fall into silence again.

“Soul?”

“Yeah?”

“Just … think of me sometimes, okay?”

And with that, Wesley leaves.

I remember this next part. I bumped into someone on my way back to Soul. That person was Wesley. I still remember what he said.

_“Look after him for me, will you?”_

Past-me walks in looking slightly confused, but lights up when she sees Soul.

“I got my side of the paperwork done,” past-me says. “So now you just need to finish it.”

Soul looks up at me and I remember thinking he was giving me such a weird look. My cheeks are flushed, I’m bubbling with excitement. I remember my choice to choose Soul as my weapon had been one that had felt rushed at the time, I think it kind of was, but there was just some kind of link that made sense when I met him, and I remember being so excited about it. That would probably explain the look in my eyes, kind of glassy, like I’m seeing beyond Soul, while at the same time I see him, entirely.

Soul is looking at me in awe, I realize.

_‘I’m home.’_

The scene fades away.

I exit the room.

I feel a little dizzy, and I can’t tell why. I stumble, and open a new door, finding myself in the library.

I can see Soul, sitting next to a pile of books.

_‘Lord Death uses his own array of weapons known as Death Scythes. Death Scythes are created when a weapon eats ninety-nine Kishin souls and one witch soul. They are considered to be the most powerful type of weapon— isn’t Maka’s dad a Death Scythe? That bumbling idiot is powerful enough to be Lord Death’s weapon?’_

“Hey Maka?”

Past-me doesn’t hear him. I feel a bit bad about it.

If Soul doesn’t know what a Death Scythe is, this must be during one of our first few months of partnership, when I was trying to adjust to working with a boy. It was hard on me, but I think it was harder on Soul, to be in a new place, with new people, with new ideas he hadn’t heard of beforehand, and most importantly, his own Meister wasn’t really nice to him those first few months, despite the fact that it had been my idea to be partners.

_‘If I was a Death Scythe, does that mean I could protect her better? We don’t do too badly as we are right now, I mean, we’ll be stronger once we manage Soul Resonance, but still … I don’t think she trusts me enough to commit to something as long-term as turning me into a Death Scythe …’_

So he picked up on my unease around him. Now I feel really bad.

I know that a few weeks after this, Soul asked about how I’d feel about turning him into a Death Scythe. I have to be honest, if he had asked me on this day, I probably would’ve told him no.

I hold my head as a sudden skull-splitting pain echoes in my brain. I stumble backwards, and the door behind me opens. I’m back in the hallway. There’s some kind of static, I can’t hear it, there’s a faint buzzing sound and it’s irritating my ears.

I try to take a step back into the library, but the door closes and I fall backwards. My back hits a door. My knees collapse, giving way to my weight. I cover my ears but the buzzing gets louder. I need to get away from it, I don’t know how, I don’t know where it’s coming from, I just need it to get out of my head.

I stare at the ground and try to focus, but my eyes keep being drawn to a strange black pattern on the floor. It’s intricate, swirling, changing— no, it’s moving. Moving towards me.

I scramble, groping for the handle to the door. It twists open and I fall backwards.

The door slams shut and I’m on a bathroom floor.

_‘Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit.’_

I turn around and see Soul, sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Wesley on his knees in front of him, wrapping a bandage around his arm. The cool of the tile helps calm me down.

“You’re kinda clumsy, aren’t you?”

_‘Quietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquietquiet.’_

Soul doesn’t say anything.

“You know, someday you have to show me your weapon form,” says Wesley thoughtfully, wrapping the bandage tightly.

Soul nods stiffly.

Wesley pats Soul’s arm and grins. “That should do it. Try and be more careful next time, okay?”

Soul nods again.

“And Soul?” says Wesley, heading for the door. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

A nod.

Wesley leaves and then there’s silence.

I feel nauseous. I don’t know why. I don’t let my eyes leave Soul though. I watch as he stares down at the bandage that Wesley put on him. I watch him frown.

In an instant, Soul’s arm is a scythe. The bandages break over the new form, tearing at the seams. His arm transforms back and I feel dizzy for an entirely different reason.

Scars.

So many scars.

Soul’s arm is littered with scars,

My vision is getting spotty. I don’t know what’s happening. I think I know what the strange buzzing was. I think Soul’s mind is waking up. I don’t think he wants me to see this. But I have to. I hold on because I feel as if, even if this is the last thing Soul ever wants me to see, I _need_ to see it. I need it as much as I need my next breath.

Soul’s crying. His tears fall onto his arm, mixing with the slowly drying blood.

_‘Sorry.’_

And then he cuts. He bleeds.

His tears mix with the blood. He straddles the side of the bathtub and angles his arm so that the droplets of crimson fall into the basin.

The world is spinning.

A flash and then Soul is standing in a bathtub full of blood, his arm bleeding profusely, a manic grin on his face. I blink and then it’s gone, it’s just Soul in the clean, spotless bathroom with small droplets of blood, the first aid kit still open near the sink.

I hold my head, my knees curling inwards. I don’t know what to do. I can feel that I’m trembling. I clench my fists and focus on the ground.

Black.

I stare as the black pools around me. As it spreads across the floor, the room changes in its wake, the room now looks like there’s been a slaughter and Soul is back to standing in a bathtub full of blood, a stupid smile on his face. He tilts his head and then he’s licking up the blood that’s dripping down his elbow.

I can taste it.

Metallic, like chewing on tinfoil. It tastes like copper.

Soul’s grinning widely, the blood is dripping out of his mouth, with his sharp teeth that are now bloodstained and his crimson eyes and white hair he really _does_ look like a vampire. He bites into his arm and now there’s more blood and his tongue suddenly becomes longer as it licks up the blood, looking like a salamander’s, his teeth becoming even sharper.

I want it.

The blood.

I need it.

I’m about to reach out for it, to have my fill, when I realize what’s happening and claw at the door, forcing it open.

I stumble into the hallway. When I look back, the doorway is completely black. I’m on my back, I can barely breathe, I think I’m suffocating and my head hurts and there’s so much static and it’s like an explosion in my mind and—

“He told you not to look.”

I freeze.

Slowly, I turn around.

The red demon from the Black Room is grinning at me.


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’m pushed up against the door, and then he’s forcing my eyelids open. I’m trying to shut them, but his fingers are pulling them away, forcing me to see, to see _him_ , to see the blood and the madness in his dilated pupils and the blood is dripping into my eye and I can’t even blink it away, I need to blink, my eyes are watering, I can’t—
> 
> “You’re safe now, Maka,” he coons soothingly.

_"Let us consider that we are all partially insane. It will explain us to each other; it will unriddle many riddles; it will make clear and simple many things which are involved in haunting and harassing difficulties and obscurities now.”_ —Mark Twain

  
The demon places his hands in his pockets and grins at me. “Nosy person you are. Where are my manners? I forgot to welcome you. What do you think of my kingdom, Little Meister?”

I’m shaking, not from fear, but from anger.

“Where’s Soul?”

“Now now, don’t forget about me, darling, or else I’ll feel neglected,” says the demon. “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

“I don’t have time for chitchat. What did you do to Soul?”

“Little ol’ me?” asks the demon, holding a hand over his chest in mock hurt. “I’m pained to know you think I’d do such a thing.” His eyes dart around the hallway with the black blood that’s spilling over the floor and licks his lips. “No, I’m afraid I can’t take credit for this masterpiece, this is all His doing.”

It’s not possible. I can’t accept that. The red demon is a parasite in Soul’s mind, I know he is. He’s a manifestation of the Black Blood, given a form. I can’t trust anything he says. He’s not meant to be trusted, he exists to deceive Soul’s mind and anyone else who he encounters. He’s built on the foundation of lies and treachery.

“Little Meister, I was just wondering … did you know that white haired boy? From Soul’s memories?”

“I …”

“You didn’t know he existed, did you?” The demon sighs dramatically. “Can’t really blame you for being surprised, Soul never talks about him. To you, at least.”

I tense.

“It’s not your fault that Soul doesn’t confide in you. You didn’t know about the scars either, did you?”

I know Soul has many scars across his body from various battles, slip-ups from when we were rookies, or more recent ones that are more like small bruises when the fights get intense. But the ones I saw on his arm, those were different. Those weren’t ones sustained in battle, I can tell that much. Those were self-inflicted.

“Judging by your silence, I’d say that was also a little surprise for you.” The demon is snickering and I hate it. I know what he’s trying to do, he’s trying to get into my head, trying to make me turn against myself, make me rethink my own thoughts, but I _know_ Soul.

The demon can’t play with my head.

“You and I both know Soul has a lot on his plate, being a first generation weapon, coming from an entirely different background, one of prestige and honour and money. He’s used to fancy things, like banquets and wine and pretty women who want him for his money and his looks,” the demon drawls. “He traded all that for what? This?” the demon gestures at the crumblings walls, stained with black blood. “It seems like he’s downgraded, doesn’t it?”

“Soul … Soul never liked that life,” I say and I know this, nothing the demon says can convince me otherwise, Soul has told me so himself. “He hated those parties, hated the women there, he hated wearing the tie and the suits and the way he was put up like a ornament on display, he hated all their eyes on him—”

“Did he?”

“I know he did! He told me so! I know what Soul thinks—”

“Or maybe that’s what he wants you to think?” the demon grins. “Think about it. He had it all; money, fame, a much nicer living space, and so much more. Why would he trade it all for something so subpar? If you really think about it, Little Meister, it doesn’t make any sense.”

I can’t give into the demon’s mind tricks, I have to trust myself. I’ve known Soul for years. He likes to sleep until noon and he never bothers to brush his hair. He studies late at night when no one is awake, and he always leaves the lamp on, falling asleep on his textbook the night before a test. He rolls his eyes at Black*Star behind his back and he loves doing slam dunks, and his favourite part of basketball is when you jump for the ball and he can shove a person to get the advantage. He writes reminders to himself on his arm and he still forgets them. He likes to sit in the shower, and he still uses toothpaste meant for eight year olds because he likes the design on the tube.

You _have_ to know someone after living with them for so long. I know Soul. Nothing this demon says can make me change my mind. You can’t pretend to be something you’re not for so long, something would slip up, you’d let something go by accident, you can’t build up an entire persona in the span of three years.

Or can you?

“You’re doubting him, aren’t you?”

I want to punch him, but I don’t know what that’ll do to Soul’s mind, so I reel it in and hold back. “No,” I snap.

“Oh, getting feisty, aren’t you?” he grins. “Of course you are. You’ve got … spunk, I guess.” I hate everything about him, him and his mind games and his stupid smirk. I can’t let him distract me from my purpose. I’ve wasted enough time as it is.

“You know, maybe Soul just doesn’t trust you with his deepest secrets. You tell him everything, you don’t think he gets tired of hearing it from you? ‘Papa plays around too much’, ‘men are terrible’, ‘I got a ninety-six, I’m so dumb!’ and blah blah blah. It’s enough to drive anyone insane. Do you really think he listens when you talk about period pains?”

“Soul cares.”

He gets awkward about it, because of course he does, he doesn’t like to think about stuff like that, but he does listen and he usually treats me nicer when my period comes around. He’s there for me, he supports me. And I support him. I can help him, if I can just get away from the demon—

“Oh I never said he doesn’t care. He cares quite a lot. Would you like to see how much?” The demon gestures to a door he’s been blocking with his body.

I hesitate. The door looks ominous, and I know that I shouldn’t trust anything the demon presents to me, but at the same time, I feel like I should, because with all the things I’m learning I didn’t know, I can’t help it. I trust Soul, I really do, but it seems Soul isn’t willing to show me everything, to know anything and I know that it’s wrong but I find myself approaching the door and then my hand is on the knob and I’m turning it and—

It’s the church.

The one where the doors only open one-way.

_‘Don’t touch her.’_

I clutch my head in pain, the sudden voice resonating in my ears. There’s Crona, standing at the front of the church, like they were that night.

It’s different. The atmosphere is raw with something that I don’t understand. I can see myself, standing in the pews. Crona is nowhere near me. What is Soul talking about?

Crona reaches outward and Soul grabs their arm.

_‘I said, DON’T TOUCH HER.’_

There’s a crack.

Soul’s broken their wrist.

My mouth goes dry.

 _‘You’re not listening, are you?’_ Soul’s thoughts have taken a dark turn, one that I makes me sick to my stomach. He’s grinning. I can barely see him in the dark lighting of the church, his silver hair gleaming underneath the moonlight.

Soul’s arm transforms into a blade. It shines, sharp.

_‘Seems I’m going to have to teach you a lesson.’_

I can’t turn away as Soul slams Crona onto the altar. Their squirming, trying to get away. They open their mouth, to scream but what comes out doesn’t sound human. It sounds as though Soul’s music has been given a voice, a desperate, shrieking voice that’s making itself hoarse as it yells and argues with its own echo into the void. It’s a racket, it hurts my head, I don’t like it, but it won’t stop.

Soul cackles.

_‘Scream. I want to hear you.’_

Crona’s screams are unrelenting, but they don’t seem to deter Soul at all. It’s like their encouraging him.

_‘I’ll teach you to touch MY Meister.’_

I watch as Soul takes Crona’s hands, their wrists in a position they should never be. He lifts his leg and then he’s stepping on Crona’s fingers. The sound of them breaking is small, quiet, in comparison to the wails of agony that are coming out of Crona’s mouth, but I hear each one, slow, painful, echoing.

I open my mouth, I want to tell him to stop, but my voice isn’t working, I can’t do anything but watch as Soul slices each finger off, then he does the same to Crona’s toes. The Black Blood isn’t doing anything to protect him.

The blood is splattering across Soul’s face, and he’s licking his lips. He loves it.

I can feel each bone as it breaks, as if it’s underneath my own fingers. It disgusts me. But at the same time, I love it, I want it, I feel euphoric and— no, it’s not me, it’s Soul who’s feeling this. Feeling this as he tortures Crona.

Soul spreads his hand across Crona’s chest. I can feel Crona’s heartbeat underneath my own palm. I can hear it, it's like a drum, ringing out in my ears. It’s so … fragile. So breakable.

He wraps his hands around Crona’s neck. I can feel their pulse beneath my fingertips, racing, and the screaming won’t stop and it’s _agony_ and mortifying, but there’s a part of me that wants to see, wants to know, if I squeeze, could I really strangle them? Could I really hurt them?

_‘You’re going to regret ever going near my Meister.’_

Soul begins to squeeze.

_‘I’ll make you regret you were born.’_

Tighter.

_‘STAY AWAY FROM MY MEISTER!’_

The screaming stops.

Crona is limp.

Stop. Please stop.

My voice won’t work.

Soul is breathing heavily. It’s over. It’s finally over.

Wait. No. It’s not.

There’s a resounding snap as Soul severs Crona’s spine.

I’m crying. I can’t move. The tears taste bitter, but also metallic and I realize Soul is licking his lips and I can taste the blood on my tongue and this doesn’t make any sense, I don’t get it and why is he standing there, so calm?

Soul turns and his face is illuminated by the moonlight.

Blood. So much blood. It’s dripping down his chin, it looks like vermillion tears, his eyes are the reddest they’ve ever been, his hair is stained with it, his teeth are tinted pink. There’s something in his eyes that I can’t name and I think he can see me. I don’t know if this is a memory, or if it’s a thought, but it’s like I’m there, in the church, and Soul is looking directly at me.

“You’re safe now, Maka,” he says and his voice is so gentle, so caring.

I push myself against the door. I want out. I want to be let out. I bang at the doors, trying to get them to open. Soul steps down from the altar, and he’s grinning and I can still taste it, taste the copper, taste Crona’s blood, and feel his pulse beneath my fingers, and _why won’t the doors open?_

“They only open one way, Maka,” says Soul. “Stay with me a while.” His grin is sick and twisted. “Come on, we’re partners. You trust me, don’t you?”

I can’t look at Soul like this. Not with all the blood, or the way he’s walking, like Crona, swaying like he can’t stand straight, staggering like he’s drunk. He walks like he’s being controlled by a puppeteer, dangling by strings, his body boneless as he wavers and stumbles forward. He reaches out to me and I squeeze my eyes tightly, unable to bare it.

I can feel it. His hand on my cheek.

I’m scared.

“What’s wrong, Maka?” asks Soul quietly. “You’re safe. I protected you. There’s no danger. You can trust me. I’m your weapon, you know that. I exist to protect you. You’re safe now.”

I can’t move. I’m frozen against the door.

My legs are ready to collapse, _I’m_ ready to collapse.

It’s too much.

This isn’t Soul. This isn’t the Soul I know, or the one I trust, or the one I —

“Look at me!”

I shake my head.

There are hands cradling my face, and I squirm. I want him to let me go. I can’t stand his touch. There’s warmth from his fingers, but it’s sticky, a reminder of all the blood and I can’t look, I just can’t—

“OPEN YOUR EYES, MAKA! LOOK AT ME!”

I can’t.

I’m pushed up against the door, and then he’s forcing my eyelids open. I’m trying to shut them, but his fingers are pulling them away, forcing me to see, to see _him_ , to see the blood and the madness in his dilated pupils and the blood is dripping into my eye and I can’t even blink it away, I need to blink, my eyes are watering, I can’t—

“You’re safe now, Maka,” he coons soothingly.

I know if I reach for the handle, it won’t do me any good. The doors only open one way.

“Talk to me, Meister. Talk to me, Maka,” says Soul and his voice is tinted with static.

I clamp my mouth shut.

“Don’t make me force you,” he says. “You better behave, you know what I can do to you. You saw. I wanted you to see.” He grins and looks back at Crona’s carcass. “Look at how good I am at protecting you, how strong I am. They were weak, I’m not.” He turns back to me. “It was all for you, you know. You did this.”

I shake my head.

“Maka. Talk to me.”

I can’t.

“Say my name.”

No.

His fingers pry at my lips, trying to get them to open. I resist, I struggle against him, but he’s holding me tight, he’s so strong, his body is forcing me to stay still.

“I just want to hear it, hear my name from your lips, in your voice, in that tone of yours,” Soul says. “Say my name and I’ll let you go.”

His hands are on my face, and the blood is spreading. I can’t breathe. I shut my eyes as his fingers force at my lips, pulling them apart. I need to breathe and I can’t stand the smell of drying blood so I let out a gasp and Soul sticks his fingers into my mouth to keep it open.

“There we go,” he leers. “Now say my name,”

I won’t.

“Maka, don’t make me hurt you like I did Crona.”

He wouldn’t hurt me.

Would he?

“I can’t kill you, I could never kill you, my precious, precious Meister. But I can hurt you. Really, really, badly.” He grins. “You’re going to wish you were dead when I’m through with you— SHIT!”

I bite down on his finger and he pulls it back. I slither out from underneath him as he reels back.

“Getting feisty? I like it!” His finger is bleeding. I think. I can’t tell with all the blood in my mouth. He licks it. “Bite me again.”

Between Soul, blocking my exit, and Crona’s dead body, I’m trapped.

“Let me out.”

“Oh, is my Meister going to beg?” Soul snickers. “I want you to say it like you mean it.”

I back up slowly, nearly tripping over my own feet. Soul chuckles.

“Having trouble without my help?”

That’s when I turn and run.

I’m jumping over the pews, trying to get closer to the long, stain glass window. I can hear Soul following me. He’s fast. He’s always been fast. I race, forcing myself to move faster than I thought I could. My heart is in my throat, I can feel the blood pumping in my ears, I’m lightheaded and as I swallow, I’m taking in more blood. I propel myself forward, crossing my arms over my face and crash through the giant window. Thank God for Renaissance design.

When I hit the ground, I’m curled up in a ball.

I open my eyes and hear the demon laugh. Where is he?

I thought I’d come out a different way because I had exited the memory— the trick? I had exited a different way, but I’m in the same blood-stained hallway. He’s blending into the surroundings and I’m shaking when I get to my feet, my knees knocking against each other.

“See? I told you he cares.”

“This … this isn’t Soul,” I say defiantly, despite how run down I feel, I can’t become docile. Soul needs me. “ _That_ wasn’t Soul.” Where is he? I can’t find him. My eyes search, for anything that stands out against the background, but it’s like he’s talking in my head.

“How would you know? You don’t know everything about him.” His voice echoes.

Stop it.

“It was, Little Meister. Can’t you just accept that?”

That can’t have been Soul. Soul isn’t like that. That wasn’t the Soul I know. A sound soul dwells within a sound mind—

“Tell me, Little Meister,” leers the demon who is suddenly in front of me, “does this look like a sound mind to you?” He makes a grand sweeping gesture to the crumbling walls and lopsided doors and the festering pool of Black Blood. “Surely, you aren’t that naive, are you?”

“You’re wrong.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“YOU’RE WRONG!” My voice escapes me and I can feel my body shudder. “SOUL! SOUL, I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!” I scream. The demon is a distraction, ignore the demon, find Soul. That’s the plan. “SOUL, I’M HERE TO HELP! SOUL!”

“Soul can’t hear you,” sneers the demon.

“SOUL!” My throat feels raw, scratchy, hoarse. The word echoes around the hallway.

The demon grins. “Soul’s not home anymore. I’m running the show now, Little Meister.”


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Soul needs me.”
> 
> “You _think_ he needs you.”

**four**

_"Why can I never go back to bed? Who is the voice ringing in my head? Where is the sense in these desperate dreams? Why should I wake when I'm half past dead?"_ —Emilie Autumn

  
“Move.”

The demon grins.

“You don’t really think I’d make it that easy, do you?”

“Soul needs me.”

“You _think_ he needs you.” His grin is too wide, too unsettling. “He’s lived just fine before you.”

He’s wrong. He was a danger to himself, he didn’t have a home, even when he was surrounded by people he was alone. I try to push past the demon, but he holds me back with a leer and curled lip.

“Why can't you just let things be?”

He's sinking into madness. I can’t believe Soul’s okay with that.

The buzzing hits me again and my balance is quickly escaping me. I sway. Staying here is getting increasingly more dangerous. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but staying too long can do permanent damage to my soul, and my mind.

“Annoying little bugger,” mutters the demon. “Trying to break through.”

The buzzing increases, the static goes full volume and my knees buckle. I barely notice the blood anymore, not sure what’s real and what’s a fabrication. I’m getting distracted, and I can’t let that happen. I’m here for Soul, for a purpose.

The Black Room. I need to get to the Black Room.

There’s a break in the static. Through all the buzzing, I can hear something. It’s incoherent, doesn’t make sense, but I hold onto it, try to grasp the sounds to form words, ignoring the throbbing in my skull.

My eyes shut, and I’m scared. There’s too much darkness, too much confusion, too much _madness_ as the static comes back.

No.

I try to push it back, to reach out again for that sound, those sounds that sounded like they might be words. I need an anchor, something to help me see straight, something to remind me of why I’m here.

_‘h …. h …. stop … please … e …. less … shit …’_

Those are words. Are they …?

“Soul?”

Does he know I’m here? Is he fighting back against the Black Blood? He has to know I’m here, can’t he sense me? He’s been pushing me out of memories. I know he’s aware of the demon, but does he know it’s trying to take over his mind?

I try to reach out, try to find my voice in this strange world where logic doesn’t exist, try to make him _hear me_.

“Stop it,” growls the demon. He grabs my arm with his claws, digging into my flesh. I try to pull away, fear creeping into me like nothing before as I search for that voice again, for _Soul_. My sleeve rips, and now my blood has joined the crimson floor.

_‘I … Wes …’_

It’s back. I push back against the demon, strike him in the chest with my foot and skid backwards through the pool of blood. It feels heavy on my clothes and my body feels like lead, but I force myself back to my feet so long as the demon is down and I’m almost at the door when—

Something dark and lonely takes a hold of me.

What do I believe anymore? The buzzing is a dull ache now. I feel numb, which is somehow worse than the pain of a hammer thudding at my skull. I sink to the ground again, my knees bruising on contact as the blood reaches up and claws at me.

Who are my friends? Do I even have friends? What would happen if I died? Would anyone care? What’s the point? Soul doesn’t appreciate me, why am I trying so hard to help him?

Why don’t I just … _stop?_

It sounds nice. The thought of nothingness. Nothing’s worth this type of pain, and it’s not like anything can hurt me once I’m dead. All the worries, all the things that trouble me can’t touch me in death. Nothing can hurt me there.

I let my eyes close as I feel the rips in my clothes, the pain of the invisible hands digging into my skin, leaving marks, leaving scars.

_‘Music … evil … dark … less …’_

The Blood begins to chew at my skin. Where am I? Why am I here? If I die, will the static stop? Will the disjointed words cease? It would be so nice for everything to be quiet for once. Can it become quiet like that again? If I could just stop, stop _everything_ , that means the buzzing would go away, the static would disappear, I’d be able to hear myself think.

I want the silence. I yearn for it.

The blood crawls along my body, gnawing at me as I tilt my head back on the ground, feel the slime and then the static increases and I sit up instantly, holding my head.

Stop. Stop. It’s too much.

I can’t think straight, there’s a blinding pain in the back of my eyelids. There’s a figure in front of me, but I can’t put together who it is. It’s just a shape. Distantly there’s a thought that it’s bad, that I should stay away from it, but I’m just so _tired._

I hold my head, but it doesn’t do anything. I can’t feel my face, or my own fingers. I know they’re on me, I know they’re threading through my hair, knotting it, because that’s what I’m making them do, but I can’t feel them. I can’t feel _anything._

Quiet. I need quiet.

I open my mouth, ready to scream at the world, demand it stop and give me just a _minute_ to think this through, figure out what’s going on when—

_‘It’s not like you have anyone to live for.’_

Soul.

_‘What use are you? You’re an oversized butterknife, too been on being “cool”. What does “cool” even mean anymore?'_

No. This is wrong.

_‘You’re a failure. You desert your family just because you couldn’t handle the pressure. You left a good brother behind. You ran away, and for what?’_

All wrong.

_‘Maka? You know she’s going to leave you too. Weapons are replaceable.’_

Oh, Soul. Soul, I never knew. I’m sorry I never knew, I swear, I had no idea. If I did, I would’ve … I would’ve … I don’t know, but you could’ve _told me._ I would’ve listened.

_‘You treat her like shit, insulting her all the time. Why does she put up with you? Why does anyone put up with you and your downer attitude? ‘_

No, Soul, that’s not it. You treat me good. So good. You make me pancakes in the morning and hum stupid show tunes, and you always pause your game when I ask you to. You get me coffee when I stay up too late studying, and you try to be quiet when you come home at odd hours, but you always step on that creaky floorboard that gives you away and you draw stupid faces in the foggy mirror after a shower. You force me to sleep when you know I’ve been up till 4 too many nights in a row, and always tell the teachers in advance so it doesn’t affect my record, you take the blame whenever I get so frazzled, I forget my homework, and you cater to my every need whenever I get sick. You remind me when I get too lost in my own head, you remind me to live a little and pull myself out of the pages of a textbook, and you’re always there when it matters and _why didn’t you tell me?_ Why did you think you could do all of that for me and expect nothing in return? Because I would’ve, for you, for all those times you’ve treated me so well. And because you’re my best friend and that’s what friends do, Soul, if you had only told me—

_‘As if you could be a Death Scythe. You fucked up. You always fuck up. You did with Blair, and who’s to say you won’t do it again? It’s a miracle she even decided to stick with you after that cock up, when there are so many better Weapons to choose from, one who isn’t male for starters.’_

I can’t imagine having a Weapon other than Soul. Yes, I was hesitant at first because he was male, but I swear, he’s made up for that. No, not made up for it. He doesn’t have to make up for anything, because he’s perfect. He’s weird and strange and he does things I don’t understand and he drives me absolutely insane, but he’s _Soul_ , and I couldn’t ask for a better partner. And maybe I should’ve told him that. There are so many words between us that have gone unspoken, that I thought were a given, but I’m realizing weren’t as obvious as I thought. Because when Soul first shook my hand and said he’d be my partner, I realized he was promising he’d never make me regret my decision to trust him. It’s been years since that day, and never once have I ever regretted it.

_'You should be Kid’s Weapon. He’s screwed up, I’m screwed up. Then again, I’m asymmetrical garbage. Black*Star would take me, right? But he doesn’t hold me right, he treats me too rough, he can barely lift me off the ground. Well, if he tosses me around, it’s probably because I deserve it.’_

I remember those early days of partnership when I was wary of Soul. I didn’t know if I could trust him. He made me trust him though, sync up with my soul and refused to give up on me. He’s patient when he needs to be, and I certainly didn’t make those first few months of partnership easy on him, and he kept with me the whole time.

_‘But what if they don’t want me?_ **_Why_ ** _would they want me? Would anyone other than her use me? She probably only tolerates me.’_

If you had just _told me_ ,—

_‘I’m having Crona level thoughts aren’t I? Not that it matters. She’s probably better friends with Crona than me anyway, not that I blame her.’_

No. That’s wrong. It doesn’t matter that Soul didn’t tell me. I should’ve known. I should’ve noticed, before this. What kind of a Meister am I if I can’t even tell if my Weapon’s in pain? What kind of _friend_ am I if I can’t tell when my _best friend_ is in pain?

_‘Tsubaki loves Black*Star, and he’s obviously stupidly crazy for her. Liz and Patty both love Kidd, and he likes them in his own weird way. Spirit totally had a man-crush on Stein, they probably experimented at some point. Heh. Experimented. And then there’s the whole Kami and Spirit thing, Maka’s proof of that love, even if Spirit fucked it up. Marie loves Stein, Stein loves Marie. What is this, some kind of curse of the Weapons? Falling in love with their Meisters?’_

I can’t breathe.

Soul … Soul loves me?

_'Maybe I should just die … it’s not like anyone will miss me.’_

He’s wrong. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but I’m scared my voice won’t carry. His words, his thoughts, they bounce off the hallway and the demon is getting increasingly more annoyed at the fact that Soul’s broken through. It doesn’t look like he can hear him though, he’s just getting more and more similar to a deadly toddler when things don’t go his way.

I’m useless. Black*Star is a martial arts master, Kidd has his reaper powers, and what do I have? Nothing. I’ve got Soul, to protect me, to defend me. I’ve always thought we were there to protect each other, but Soul doesn’t need protection, not from a useless Meister who can’t even remember to sleep most days. Why does he bother with me?

_‘Maybe if I don’t wake up, the nightmares will stop.’_

I can’t have him thinking like that. Maybe I can’t protect him in a fight, and maybe my body is just a meaty pillow that barely softens blows, but even if I can’t save him from others, the least I can do is save him from himself, the same way he does for me every day.

_;Wes’ll be disappointed. Still haven’t visited him, have I? He still writes letters though … Should’ve read them. I’m a shit brother. Better leave a will. I’ll give him my sheet music. Maybe he can fix the fucked up melodies.’_

He’s so nonchalant, like this is par for the course, common for him to be thinking about his death. Maybe it’s not all the Black Blood? I’ve seen his scars, I know he has plenty. I always assumed they were from Kishin fights, from those early days when we were still clumsy.

Was I wrong?

_‘The music’s too dark for someone as light as him to play. Guess he can put it in a museum? Reasons Why My Brother’s A Fucktard.’_

The scars along his right arm …

_‘I could give my basketball to Black*Star. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.’_

The one I saw when he walked around the apartment in his boxers. It went from the top of his knee to mid-thigh.

_‘Nah, maybe the motorcycle? He’ll probably give it a paint job.’_

The wrists …

_‘Do you think my heart and soul are enough? Will she be satisfied with that? Are they worth enough for her?’_

Oh my Death, his wrists …

_‘Not like it matters, she has them anyway. Can’t really leave her with something she already has. She’d probably laugh if she knew about them. Or is she ignoring them? She probably thinks it’s kinder that way.’_

You’re wrong. I didn’t know, I didn't see, same way I didn’t see anything about you, apparently. The white scars on his right and left wrists. Four on each side. Perfectly symmetrical.

_‘She hates men. She hates_ **_me_ ** _. What kind of masochist am I?’_

A strange, deranged laugh bubbles in my stomach and finds its way up my window, escaping through my lips but I don’t feel like laughing. I’m hollow. He’s so _casual_ about it, like he’s surrendered already. It hurts too much to think about. Everything’s so surreal, it doesn’t make _sense_ to me at all.

I can’t let him die. He means more to me than just a weapon, he isn’t … what did he call himself? An oversize butterknife. Trust Soul to be cynical to the very end. But this isn’t the end. It can’t be. I won’t let it be.

I need to find the Black Room. I have to get there, before Soul does something irreversible.

My body aches and fights me as I try to move. There’s a laziness that’s slowing me down, but now I figured it out. It’s not my own feelings that are doing this. It’s the Black Blood, Soul’s monologue that’s making me sick to my stomach.

I crawl, but it’s like my legs have disappeared. I’m sluggish, I’m slow, I’m so _tired_ , I could just stop but I can’t. Not when something so important is on the line. Not when _Soul_ is on the line.

The figure in front of me clears and I can see the demon clearly, standing over me, panic in his soulless eyes.

“Stop,” he commands.

I almost do, but I force myself forward. I right myself, try to kick away at the blood. It splashes and splatters. I try to push back Soul’s thoughts, they’re going to slow me down.

The demon blocks my path again. Using what strength I can, I push him out of my way. He’s surprised by the sudden force— almost as much as I am— and stumbles back.

I force my way through the door he’s blocking before he can recover.

_‘Don’t go in there!’_

I ignore it. Tough luck, Soul. I’m saving you whether you want me to or not.

My breath catches.

It isn’t the Black Room, it’s the Evans Manor.

And sitting at the old piano bench is Soul.


	5. five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Shh,” he says softly, but it’s not comforting anymore. I don’t know what to do, what _can_ I do? What do I say? It wraps its fingers around my neck tightly and my vision starts to get blurry. I choke on air as I try to get enough oxygen to my lungs but it isn’t working, _it isn’t working_ —
> 
> “Don’t squirm, Little Meister. You don’t want me to do something drastic, do you?”

****_"Memory's so treacherous. One moment you're lost in a carnival of delights with poignant childhood aromas, the flashing neon of puberty, all that sentimental candy-floss. The next, it leads you somewhere you don't want to go. Somewhere dark and cold, filled with the damp, ambitious shapes of things you hoped were forgotten. Memories can be vile, repulsive, little brutes. Like children, I suppose. But can we live without them? Memories are what our reason is based upon. If we can't face them, we deny reason itself! Although, why not? We aren't contractually tied down to rationality! There is no sanity clause! So when you find yourself locked onto an unpleasant train of thought, heading for the places in your past where the screaming is unbearable, remember there's always madness. Madness is the emergency exit. You can just step outside, and close the door on all those dreadful things that happened. You can lock them all away … Forever."_ —Alan Moore

  
“Hello, Maka— oof!”

I throw myself around him, wrapping my arms tightly around his body. I don’t care that I’m bloody, that I’m obviously a mess, I have been waiting forever to get to him and after walking down so many hallways and seeing so many memories and hearing his thoughts, it’s so good to _see him_ that I just fall apart.

“I kept calling for you, and you weren’t answering, and the demon … he was, he was _awful_ , Soul, I’m so glad I found you!”

He pats me on the back and rubs circle along my spine. I’m grinning, I look stupid, but I don’t care. He smells the same, like cheap cologne and _Soul_ and I’m already feeling better. His warmth fills me, surrounds me and I know I’m wasting time, but I just can’t let go of him, now that I finally have him here with me again.

“I was so scared,” I admit, shoving my face into the material of the pinstriped suit. “I thought you were going to kill yourself.”

I feel his body shake as he chuckles. “Cool guys don’t abandon their partners,” he says. I can hear the grin in his voice. He pulls away from me, and I take in his face.

Those red eyes that made me uneasy fill me with joy, and the white hair that used to make me think he was a ghost is so reassuring now. He’s frowning slightly though, his sharp, vampiric teeth biting into his lip. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“There’s nothing here to—”

A first aid kit appears out of nowhere.

“It’s my mind,” says Soul. “I can make it do whatever I want.”

“The joys of a metaphysical world,” I muse. He gestures to the piano bench and I take a seat, my heartbeat slowing down.

As he opens the kit and takes out the bandages, I can’t help but think he looks calm. Does he know what I’ve seen? He’s been pushing me out, he must know that I’ve seen things. Things he probably doesn’t want me to see. I try not to think about it too much. I don’t want to spoil this reunion.

Soul starts to carefully wipe the blood away, his touch gentle, strategically avoiding my injuries. I realize now that the gashes that started to open mirror Soul’s own scars, with his own scars seemingly gone. He must be healing then, right?

“So …” I spent so long waiting to find him, desperate to find him, and I know I shouldn’t be here any longer than I should be, but I can’t help it. Seeing a healthy Soul is making me stall. I just want to stay here, protected from the demon, from the outside world that keeps trying to hurt us. We can be alone and safe right here. I don’t have to worry about him here, where he’s clearly got such a solid control of his mind. I can linger a little longer here, catch my breath, catch up with my Weapon and best friend.

I don’t know what to say to him, so instead I gently swing my feet forward. He grins slightly, but holds me tightly to stop me from hitting him.

“How’ve you been?”

I may as well have just asked about the weather.

“A bit of this, bit of that,” he says with a light chuckle, amused. “What did you do, go running around in a pig sty?”

More like running through your memories. I don’t say it though, bite my lip and bask in Soul’s presence. It feels well-deserved.

His hands stop on my knee. No, I don’t want him to stop. I want him to touch me, to prove to me he’s real, that he’s here, that we’re together, that he isn’t out of my grasp. That I can help him, save him.

“Maka,” he says softly, his grip on me tightening. “How … how much did you see?”

“What?”

“You saw, didn’t you?” he asks. His grip tightens even more.

“S-Soul, you’re hurting me.”

“How much did you see?” he demands more forcefully.

“Not that much—”

“LIAR!”

I flinch at his raised voice. He notices, biting into his own lip so hard, the skin breaks. “Sorry. I … sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing.” He lets me go, and I miss the warmth, but there are more important things to talk about right now.

“Can you … can you read my mind?”

Soul looks at me through the fringe of his long, white hair. “Hmm?” he asks.

“What am I thinking right now?”

_A sound soul dwells within a sound mind, and a sound body._

He scoffs. “You’re such a nerd. They basically tattooed that stupid motto underneath your eyelids the first day you walked into class, didn’t they?”

I stare at him.

He freezes.

“I mean —”

“You can read my mind here, can’t you?”

He won’t look at me, avoids my gaze. The same way I used too. “It’s … well, it’s a metaphysical space.” He shrugs, as if that explains everything.

“It’s okay,” I say, and strangely, I mean it. If there’s anyone I would trust with my mind, my most inner, deepest thoughts, it’s Soul.

“Thanks.” His voice is almost a whisper.

I smile and reach out, run my fingers through his hair like I do whenever he falls asleep on the couch. “Who can I trust if not you?”

“Who indeed.”

He goes back to tending my wounds in silence. He chuckles every now and then when I jokingly call him “doctor” in my head, and the tension in the air seems to dissipate.

“Are you …” He sounds so small, so unlike the Soul I’m used to. This is the Soul from memories, the one who is still unsure of himself, not knowing where he can step, never wanting to break the camel’s back. “I mean, I know what you saw. What you heard.” He takes a deep, shaky breathe. “Are you … are you afraid fo me?”

“I’m … confused,” I say. “You’re very hard to understand, Soul.”

It’s fun trying to figure him out. Every moment is an adventure with him, even when we’re not doing anything remotely important. It’s the way he leans on things and shoves his hands in his pockets, looping his fingers in his belt loop if he doesn’t have pockets. He’s always finding ways to surprise me, and I’m always eager to find out more.

This trip has been eye-opening, and maybe I don’t know my Weapon as much as I thought I did, but I’m willing to relearn him, ready to notice all the things that somehow escaped my notice the first time around. I’m excited for when Soul opens up to me himself, when we can talk about what I’ve seen, what I’ve heard, when he’s ready to tell me these sorts of things.

He nods. “Does it … does it disgust you?” _Do I disgust you?_

I don’t know what to say to that. The Soul in front of me is familiar, but feels like a stranger all the same. “I haven’t decided yet.”

He lets out a breath, and smiles weakly. It’s obvious it’s not what he was hoping for, but it’s something he can work with. “And what about what I said? What I thought?”

I shake my head. “You can’t kill yourself, Soul, I can’t—”

“Not that,” he cuts me off. “The part …” He rubs my knee gently, then his fingers still. “The part about Meisters … and Weapons. About my …” He looks down. “My feelings?”

He doesn’t like talking about it. I’m pretty sure no boy likes to talk this openly about their feelings. I don’t like that I’ve forced him to confront them this way, I’d rather he tell me in his own time, when he’s ready, but it’s what’s happened and now we have to deal with it. Part of me thought he was going to pretend I didn’t know, I thought it’d be easier for him, but it’s Soul. He’s always finding new ways to surprise me.

“Those …”

It’s a lot to process. Soul loves me, and he’s here, admitting it to me. Outside this world, he’s fighting for his life while the Black Blood tries to seize control, while outside this very door there’s a demon waiting for me to return o him so he can taunt me more.

I fold my hands in my lap, nearly reach out to his hand on my kneecap, but hold myself back. I don’t know what I’d do with his hand in mine anyway. “About that, I …”

How _do_ I feel about Soul? I know he’s the closest person to me, perhaps closer than Tsubaki. He’s not the only man I’ve dared to trust, but he was the first, and he’s the one I trust the _most_. He takes me as I am, and I’m forever grateful for that. I know that he’s always got my back in a fight, that I can’t imagine a life without him, but in terms of matters of the heart … Do I feel the same?

He’s handsome, in this rugged way that Wes isn’t. There’s a certain “charm” that comes with his “coolness”, a slight awkwardness that’s endearing. I _like_ Soul, though I can’t say for sure if I love him. If I had to date a man, I would probably choose Soul. I know he wouldn’t do me wrong, he’d treat me right, respect me and my independence. Through all the years of friendship with Soul, it’s never really hit me until now that Soul is a man.

I don’t know how to put words to my feelings, or the thoughts going on in my head, but I try to make sentences. They don’t make much sense, and it’s hard for me to formulate these things properly. I don’t know how to express it, how to even _begin_ to articulate it, but suddenly it doesn’t matter because there’s pain as Soul grips my knee tightly.

“I knew it.” Sharp. Clipped. “I fucking _knew it_.”

“Knew what? S-Soul, you’re hurting me—”

His grip tightens even more. If this weren’t a metaphysical world, I’m sure my bones would’ve cracked.

“You’re repulsed, aren’t you?” he leers. “I always knew it. You hate me, don’t you?”

“Whoa, you’re jumping to conclusions!” I can barely think past the pain. “I never said that—”

“But you think it, don’t you?” he asks. “You think about it because you hate your father, for all the shit he’s put you through, how he treated you mother. You hate men, why am I any different? You despise me, don’t you? I’m just a Weapon, one you can throw away if you want to. Isn’t that right, Maka?”

I don’t like the way he says my name. He’s digging his nails into my knee, there’s blood now, and it’s like he has talons that are digging deep into my flesh, leaving a mark, carving himself into me.

“Soul, it hurts!”

“Tell me, Maka! Tell me the truth!”

I finally gain control over my body and kick forwards. He pushes back against me and then his hand moves from my knee to my ankle, and it’s like there’s something crazy behind his eyes as his other hand reaches upwards to my neck.

“S-Soul—”

“I know what you think,” he coons in that voice, and I know it’s wrong. This is all wrong. “Men are disgusting, vile. Why should I be any different? I’m a Weapon, I’m below you. There’s no reason for you to like me, to keep me around. Your father was a disgrace, so is every other man on this Godforsaken Earth, am I right?”

No. I want to tell him he’s wrong, but my voice doesn’t work as his fingers wrap themselves around my windpipe and my hands go up, trying to push them away because nothing is right and something that seemed to be going so well has gone so wrong so quickly.

“You’re disgusted in me, aren’t you? That I thought I actually had a chance, even for a moment? I knew you’d hate me for this. More than you already do. So tell me the truth, Little Meister. Tell me you hate me.”

This is not Soul. I don’t know if he’s an illusion created by the demon to get me to play into his hands, or if this is another weird corner of Soul’s mind that seems to be turning against him. It doesn’t matter if it’s the work of the Black Blood, or not, what matters is I’m wasting my time here, I’ve lost precious moments, and _this_ _isn’t_ _Soul._

“Do you remember what you saw?” he leers.

Suddenly, images are being forced into my mind. I can feel a body underneath my fingers, feel blood trickling down my face. I don’t know who it is underneath my hands, don’t know _what_ it is, they don’t have an identity anymore, it’s gone.

“I could’ve torn Crona limb by limb,” says Not-Soul. “Left him lifeless.”

“No,” I can barely manage the hoarse whisper. “You …”

“Shh,” he says softly, but it’s not comforting anymore. I don’t know what to do, what _can_ I do? What do I say? Words don’t work here as the illusion, this trap, whatever it is, wraps its fingers around my neck tightly and my vision starts to get blurry. I choke on air as I try to get enough oxygen to my lungs but it isn’t working, _it isn’t working_ —

“Don’t squirm, Little Meister. You don’t want me to do something drastic, do you?”

It turns its eyes to me and I don’t know how I didn’t see it before. I can’t make myself hurt it, no matter how much it isn’t Soul, it looks like him. It’s clear from its actions now that it was never really my Weapon, but I still can’t make myself hurt it. It’s a part of Soul, and I can’t figure out what it is exactly, but so long as I don’t know what will happen if I add to this damaged, crumbling prison, I can’t lift a finger against it.

“I could kill you, right here, right now, and no one would know.” It chuckles, and then spots begin to dot my vision. I’m breathing in too deeply, inhaling too much, but it’s not working, I’m barely picking up air. “It would be a silent death,” it muses.

Don’t touch me. Get off of me. I don’t like it.

“I don’t know why I thought you could never love a monster like me,” it hisses. “Delusional thoughts, maybe. Perhaps I was just hopeful.”

“S-Soul,” I choke out.

“You’d know all about hope, wouldn’t you?” it leers. “You know you’re his, right? His hope. Such a foolish emotion.” I can’t see hit clearly, but I can feel its eyes on me, raking up and down my body. It’s disgusting. “Fitting for such a foolish little girl.”

“P-please,” I say, my hands falling limp at my sides. “D-don’t …”

“Oh, I think we’re past that point, wouldn’t you say, Little Meister?”

“H-hurt … him,” I force out the words, each syllable like a razor against my tongue. “Don’t … h-hurt him …” I suck in a deep breath. “P-please d-don’t hurt him.”

Something changes in its eyes. It twitches, and then he lets go, and I fall to my knees.

“Damn human emotions,” it hisses. “I suppose he really _is_ king …”

I clutch at my neck, cough and splutter. I’m breathing in too many breaths, too short, too quick, but I can _breathe_ , and my vision is slowly starting to clear, the fuzzy edge are coming into focus. It towers over me as I try to steady myself, and clicks his tongue.

“Soul Eater truly is king here, and we are merely humble servants to his wish,” Not-Soul says. He bends down to my level and brushes my hair out of my face, flinching as though his wrist is in pain. “I should’ve known a man could never kill a woman he loves.”

I’m short of breath again and it has nothing to do with the finger-shaped bruises on my windpipe.

It’s weird to hear those words from Not-Soul’s mouth. It’s his voice, but it doesn’t sound right. It’s wrong, and it doesn’t work, not from this … this _thing_.

I want to hear it. From his lips. His _real_ mouth.

I stumble backwards as Not-Soul watches, a frown on his face. He watches as I scramble back into the hallway and I collide with the demon who smirks at me.

“Scared yet?”

I don’t bother dignifying him with a response.

I need to find him, and it hits me.

I’m so _stupid_ , the answer’s obvious.

I close my eyes.

 _Focus_. I can’t waste time, not after that huge detour that was for nothing. He can’t handle this for much longer, and once we get out of here, we can deal with everything that’s happened. We’ll have a talk we should’ve had a long time ago, and things will make sense again and maybe he’s messed up, but it’s okay because I like him just the way he is, crazy red eyes and shark-teeth and all.

_Focus, focus, FOCUS._

Where is his soul? You can hear it, can’t you? Follow it. Ignore the white noise.

“Oh, Little Meister going to cry?”

_Soul … if you love me … let me save you._

My eyes snap open.

_Got him._

And if the look on the demon’s face is anything to go by, this one’s the real deal.


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tightens his grip slowly. 
> 
> “Still trust me, Maka?”
> 
> I meet his eyes, and swallow. He feels it underneath his fingertips.

****_"One ought to hold on to one's heart; for if one lets it go, one soon loses control of the head too.”_ —Friedrich Nietzsche

  
“You can’t go in there.”

“Watch me.”

The demon can take all his stupid mind tricks and puzzles and shove them up his ass. I’m not letting him control me anymore, I can’t fall victim to his distractions again. Soul’s thoughts are echoing in my mind and I can feel him, I know where he is now, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get him out.

“You don’t know him. He doesn’t trust you. You don’t know his secrets.”

“I’m okay with that,” I say and to my surprise, I mean it.

Because I get it now. This whole time, I’ve been looking at this the wrong way. This isn’t about Soul not talking to me enough, it's not about his lack of trust in me. It’s about my lack of trust in _him_. He has his own reasons for keeping his secrets, reasons for keeping me in the dark. Because Soul has never been one to hide things from me unless he’s got a damn good reason. Soul’s never told me to forget about something that he hasn’t intended on telling me about at a later date.

“I don’t need to know. Not until he wants to tell me. Not until he’s ready. But I need to save him before that.”

It sounds so _simple_ , so obvious this way. I’ve been overcomplicating things, thinking too much. So I push past the demon and it’s easier than I remember, and I enter the room, my heart beating faster when I recognize my surroundings.

I’m in the Black Room.

I’ve made it.

I shut the door behind me, a new calm overtaking me now that I know what I’m here for. I’ve been looking at this all wrong, but now I’m ready to do it right.

It’s just like I remember, minus the demon. Soul’s sitting at the piano, playing. The notes float around me, dancing and telling stories and tales. It’s dark, but it’s a type of darkness that makes me feel safe. Maybe that’s not what he intends, but it’s what’s happening, and if it’s strange that I find the eerie shadows dancing to the music like a lullaby, that’s my business.

He knows I’m here before I can open my mouth.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

This is ridiculous.

“So … you saw?” His voice is quiet. He doesn’t want to ask, but he will because he feels he has to. The same way he does the dishes.

“Yeah.”

There’s silence.

“Are you scared?” He doesn’t stutter, he isn’t afraid. He’s cautious, as if stepping on ice, scared it’ll give out under his weight. His head is tilted up high, but it’s out of pride, not confidence. He’s one damn good actor, he’s fooled me for years, but the masks are coming off and it’s time for the truth.

“I’m concerned,” I say slowly.

Soul scoffs. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“I’m not scared,” I say. It’s obvious he doesn’t believe me, so I scramble and try to find words to explain. “Well, I _am_ scared,” here, he smirks like it pains him to know he was right, but he couldn’t be more wrong, “But not the way you think. I’m scared _for_ you.”

He blinks.

“Do you remember when you got that scar?” He winces, and I can just tell he’s remembering the pain of having his chest cut open. “It’s like that. You were losing so much blood, and I got so scared. Stein said you might not make it and I was … I was _terrified_ , but for you. Always for you. Same as now.”

“Do you even remember what you saw?” asks Soul letting out a hollow chuckle. “I wanted to kill Crona, tear them to shreds. I used protecting you as an excuse, to try and justify myself, to tell myself it was _okay_ that I wanted to kill them.”

“Soul, the Black Blood is doin things to you. It’s tampering with your memories, I _know_ that’s not you _—_ ”

“And if it is?”

“I—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” he asks, his fingers slamming down on the piano. The noise is just that, noise, echoing around the room, wrong and offbeat and just terrible. “It’s not the Black Blood, it’s me. I’m … I’m so fucked up, I don’t even …” He shakes his head, slams his head against the keys. He doesn’t flinch at the offensive sound that comes out, scratches at his skin so forcefully I think he’s tearing at the skin. “When are you going to give up on me?”

“I can’t do that,” I say softly.

He laughs wryly. “And why not?”

“You’re my partner.”

Soul shakes his head and sits up, rigidly straight. “Don’t you get it? I’m going insane. I’ve always been a little crazy. I don’t have the willpower to even keep up the pretence of sanity.

“I know what’s happening outside. I know I’m bleeding, that I’m close to dying. Let me die. I might kill you if you let me live. I don’t want to hurt you, Maka, but I don’t trust myself not to.”

“You won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve had plenty of chances to kill me. I’ve heard of mind collapses, when someone’s mind completely caves in to destroy a threat. You haven’t done that to me. I was nearly strangled to death earlier. You stopped it.” I step closer to him. He looks corner, like he can’t escape, but wants to. I can’t let him go, not like this. “You told me you loved me. You don’t hurt those you love.”

“And if that’s all I do?”

“We’ll deal with it. Together.”

“I’ll kill you.” It’s a whisper, so quiet, so hushed I have to chase after the sound. “I won’t mean to, but I’ll kill you.”

I reach forward and take his hands in mine. They feel right, proper, so unlike Not-Soul’s. I don’t know how I fooled myself before. The scars are there, along his wrists and I can’t believe I thought for a second that they’d just disappear. I guide his hands to my neck, position them as I want. Soul watches in awe, until I let go. His hands stay where they are, wrapped loosely around my windpipe.

“I trust you, Soul.”

He laughs and it shakes his body but he’s not smiling, his eyes are scared, terrified as he stares at the position I’ve put us in. “This is a bit far to prove a point, isn’t it, Maka?” His thumb strokes against my pulse. I refuse to move, stand strong.

He tightens his grip slowly.

“Still trust me, Maka?”

I meet his eyes, and swallow. He feels it underneath his fingertips.

“You won’t hurt me.”

Soul’s searching for something in my face. I don’t know what it is, but I hope he finds it.

“What if it’s not the Black Blood? What if it’s just me? What if they pump all the Black Blood out of me, and I still want to tear Crona to pieces? What will you do then?”

He’s testing me. He wants to me to give up. As if I ever could. After all the times Soul has held me strong when I fell apart, how could I ever give up on him?

“Then I’ll join you.”

His jaw goes slack, his grip loosening before tightening again. “You’re just saying that.”

“Try me.”

His eyes are holding so much sadness, I can’t breathe. “Don’t do this, Maka. I’m not worth this.”

I tilt my head ever so slightly. I could break free from his hold if I wanted to, but I don’t. “Then what are you worth?”

He licks his lips. “I don’t …”

“If you’re going insane, take me with you. If the price of sanity is you, I don’t want it.”

“You don’t mean that.” He sounds hoarse.

“Do you remember the first day you played for me? The first time you tried to scare me away? I didn’t run then, and I won’t run now. Not ever. You’re stuck with me, Soul Eater. Don’t make me regret it.”

And then he’s kissing me.

His fingers move from gripping my throat to gently stroking it with his thumb, one of his hands snaking into my hair, threading through my messy locks. One of my hands grab a handful of his shirt, pulling him closer. I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to do, and it seems Soul doesn’t know either. It’s clumsy and the angle is wrong. Our noses bump against each other, and our teeth knock. It’s like he’s trying to choke me with his tongue, not that I’m doing any better. I can’t breathe, with how smashed our faces are together I’m forgetting how to inhale and he’s pulling at my hair too tightly and I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I wrinkle the fabric beneath my nails more and force myself to pull away when I remember oxygen is necessary.

He leans his forehead against mine, breathing harshly. I’m not doing much better.

“Stupid,” he whispers. “That was stupid.”

“Kind of.”

He laughs, and it sounds genuine, lighting a fire in my stomach.

“Shit, what am I doing?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, seeking out his hand. I lace our fingers together, feeling his larger hand in mine. “Help me figure it out?”

Soul stares at our intertwined fingers in fascination, like he doesn’t believe what he’s seeing.

“I just …” He plays with my fingers, watching rapt in awe as I comply underneath him. Like playing cat’s cradle without the rope, he tries to find his voice. I wait. “I love you,” he breathes in sharply, and I’m silent as the rest of my body sings because he’s said it, it’s come from his mouth, and it’s not as wonderful hearing it as I thought it would be. It’s better. It feels right. He lets out a gasp, as if trying to catch his breath. “God, thought that’d be harder to say …” He shakes his head, still pressed against me. I follow his lead. “I’m not … I’m not thinking straight right now. I just … I want you, so much. By my side, in my life, and I can’t … I can’t risk losing you.”

“I can handle myself,” I remind him.

“I nearly killed you. This place nearly killed you.”

“It didn’t.”

“But it could’ve.” His voice is low, almost deadly. “I’m your Weapon, it’s my job to keep you safe. Every moment you spend with me, your life is in danger. I have to protect you, even from myself.”

“If you’re staying, so am I.”

“This world’s not stable,” he whispers. “ _I’m_ not stable.”

“So the world will fall apart around us. Kind of romantic, isn’t it?”

He snorts. “You been reading those trashy romance novels again?”

“Soul, you say you love me.”

“I do,” he insists, and he’s back to staring at our hands, playing with my fingertips.

I pull our hands between us. Soul’s gaze follows. “Then prove it.”

“Maka …”

I don’t want to hear him say something self-deprecating. I don’t want to hear him try and tell me he isn’t worth this, that no one will miss him if he’s gone. I don’t want him to try and talk me out of it. I want to hear his worries, his troubles, the things that keep him up at night, and the stupid, fleeting thoughts about aliens or bendy straws. I want everything he’s willing to give me, and more, and I don’t know if that’s love, but it feels like it could be.

“I’m scared.”

I grin. “So am I.”

“Outside … out there … What’ll we be?”

“Whatever you want us to be.”

He lets out a breath that sounds like a wanna-be-laugh. “You’re giving me that much power?”

“I will, if you come with me.”

I hold out my hand, and I’m twelve again, he’s sitting behind that piano that’s so big for such a small body and he’s got that crooked grin with that shark-tooth smile and eyes the colour of blood.

He looks at my hand, at my face, and then that familiar smirk creeps across his features.

He takes my hand.


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Down With Men?” I echo. “Wow, I sound terrible.”
> 
> “Terrible for my heart.”
> 
> I laugh. “Did you really just say that?”
> 
> “You’re terrible for my brain. All intelligence just flies out my ears,” he says but he’s got a stupid smile on his face.

_"I love you. I hate you. I like you. I hate you. I love you. I think you're stupid. I think you're a loser. I think you're wonderful. I want to be with you. I don't want to be with you. I would never date you. I hate you. I love you … I think the madness started the moment we met and you shook my hand. Did you have a disease or something?” —_ Shannon L. Adler

  
Stein stares at us. Clearly, he’s in shock.

I hurt all over, my bones aching. The blood feels like it’s made a home underneath my fingernails but there’s nothing real on my body. I need a shower.

Stein will be keeping Soul for a few more days, making sure he’s alright, checking to see if any mental injuries have transferred over into the physical world. I promise him I’ll be right back after a shower.

When I return with a sleeping bag, he looks surprised, like he wasn’t expecting me.

We don’t talk about what’s happened. He teases me about the books I read, I tell him to chew with his mouth closed. It’s as if nothing has happened.

Things get a bit complicated when Papa comes by, kicking the door open in that stupidly loud way of his.

“MAKA-CHAN!”

I roll my eyes. Soul has a headache, I have a headache, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture right now. I open my mouth to tell him so, when he wraps his arms around me tightly. I nearly drop my book.

“Are you okay?” he whispers in my ear, and I shiver pleasantly.

Papa does a lot of things wrong, but every now and then he does things just right.

“I’m fine, Papa,” I tell him, rubbing circles on his back.

He turns to Soul. “You,” he snarls, and I suppose it can’t last forever. “You listen here, Soul Eater,” he spits out the word like it’s venom, “Don’t think I don’t know what sort of danger you put my daughter through.”

“I know.”

“You better not do something stupid like this again.”

“Cool guys don’t make the same mistake twice,” Soul huffs, his fringe lifting a little.

Papa nods firmly. “That’s right.”

What is this? Soul’s having a civil conversation with Papa?

“It’s why you’re so lame.”

_Ah. There is it._

Papa’s back to his loud, obnoxious self, ready to throw the first punch even though Soul’s in a literal hospital bed. Stein shoos him out, and the room falls into silence.

I glance over at Soul, who looks back.

We both burst into laughter.

A few more people visit. Black*Star brings Soul some of his favourite video games, and says he won’t go easy on him just cause his dumb ass is stuck in the hospital. Blair comes in, and it's not as disastrous as I thought it would be. She hugs him tightly and mourns the lack of him in the apartment, says she’ll be cooking dinner for us when he gets released.

Tsubaki drops by with the homework he and I have missed. When she leaves, he turns to me.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Stay here. I’m not going to break.”

“I know that, idiot,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re too _cool_ for that, right?”

“Right.” It sounds dry.

“Besides. I said I’d stay if you want me to. Do you want me to?”

Soul sighs dramatically. “I was trying to give you an out.”

“I don’t want an out. You can keep pushing me away, Soul, but I’ll keep coming back.”

He falls back against his pillows, messing up the sheets. “I just … I know your whole … Down-With-Men thing you’ve got going on so …”

“Down With Men?” I echo. “Wow, I sound terrible.”

“Terrible for my heart.”

I laugh. “Did you really just say that?”

“You’re terrible for my brain. All intelligence just flies out my ears,” he says but he’s got a stupid smile on his face.

“You don’t get to ‘give me an out’,” I say. “You haven’t even asked me what I think of all this, you’ve just assumed. So if you’ll shut your stupid face, I’ll tell you what I’m thinking and we can save ourselves the time.”

He bites his lip, grits his teeth, like he’s bracing himself for a hurricane or something stupid like that.

“You’re so stupid.”

“Gee, thanks—”

“Nope, my turn to talk, remember?” I cut him off. “You’re stupid, and infuriating, and you do so much impulsive _shit_ , you drive me absolutely crazy.”

“Did you just swear?” he chuckles. I raise my book and he curls into the bed. “Continue.”

“You make fun of me all the time, and you’re not an easy person to live with, but you know, I like that about you. I like _you_ , Soul. Maybe I don’t love you, but I feel like I could. You’re different, Soul.

“You’re not my Papa. We’re not going to make the same mistakes Papa did. Or maybe we will, but I’m willing to try. If you screw this up before we even start, so help me, I’ll kill you _myself_! There’s a lot we have to work out, but we would’ve had to work out a lot of stuff anyway, and if you want this, and I want this, then why _shouldn’t_ we? We could be so _good_ together, if you’d just …”

And Soul starts laughing, tossing his head back and shaking so much, I think he’ll open his stitches. I want to tell him he’s being stupid, but his laughter’s contagious and as much as I want to yell at him, I find myself joining in on him.

“I get it, Maka,” he says once he’s calmed down, and the worry in his eyes disappears.

“Do you?”

“Yeah.” He smirks, and I’ve missed that look so much. “We’ll both kill each other, alright? I’ll cut you open, as long as you do the same to me.”

It doesn’t make that much sense, but somehow it makes perfect sense to me.

He reaches out and takes my hand in his, and it feels better than the kiss we shared in the Black Room.

“I’m going to fuck this up,” Soul whispers, pressing his forehead against mine. “A lot. But be patient with me, okay? It’s not going to be easy, but I swear, same way I’ve been making sure you never regret our partnership, I’ll work twice as hard to make sure you never regret me. Never regret _us_.” He licks his lips, and I follow the motion with my eyes. “So … Maka Albarn, what do you say? Do you trust me?”

I grin.

“Always.”


End file.
